


Discovery

by Sashataakheru



Category: Electric Light Orchestra RPS
Genre: Community: queer_fest, F/M, M/M, Other, Transgender, cross-dressing, first person POV, medical transition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've been long forgotten to the pages of history. No one remembers who I used to be. But I don't know if I want that to be the case anymore. You see, I'm Bruce, Jeff's dirty little secret. I'm that girl he used to know. And for a long time, I was a girl, but it wasn't a choice I wanted to make. It was just easier that way. I did love Jeff, I really did, and while I can't say he triggered my desire to transition into a man, I'm not sure any one thing really did, it isn't a bad excuse. This is my story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 'Song - Don't Bring Me Down (Electric Light Orchestra), Bruce, "What happened to the girl I used to know?" The story behind Bruce's transition.' for queer_fest 2011 (Thanks, minkhollow, for the awesome prompt! :D)
> 
> Author’s Notes: The only things I know about Jeff's first wife are her name, how long they were married, and that they had no children. The rest of this story is pure fiction. :D?

That song was never originally about me. It was just some randomly bastardised German that Jeff threw in to fill a space, but people kept mishearing it as Bruce and then the band started singing Bruce too. Then the questions started, and I had to sit and watch in silence as he denied my existence. I understood why he did it, of course. It's not like I wanted the attention either. But it still hurt.

He'd apologise. So many times he said he was sorry as we lay in the darkness together, him sucking on my neck like he used to do all those years ago. He'd make love to me as if we were still married, clinging on to some weird bond we could never quite articulate. And yeah, I'd forgive him until it happened again.

You see, I'm Bruce, Jeff's dirty little secret. I'm that girl he used to know. And for a long time, I was a girl, but it wasn't a choice I wanted to make. It was just easier that way. I did love Jeff, I really did, and while I can't say he triggered my desire to transition into a man, I'm not sure any one thing really did, it isn't a bad excuse.

It's hard being the only girl in a family of boys. At least I was athletic. I didn't mind playing football or cricket with them, and I gave as good as I got. What else was I to do, sit and play on my own? Not my thing. I'd get left behind if I didn't keep up with them. I was always the tallest girl in my class anyway. No one seemed to mind I was athletic and not very girly when I was at school because I was good at sport. I was popular. But outside school, the world wasn't so tolerant.

There's a certain preciousness that you feel when you're the only daughter in a big middle class family like mine. Lots of pressure to be more feminine and make a good marriage, as preposterous as it sounds now. I never did buy into all that bullshit like my mother did. And I did live as a girl for quite a long time because I didn't think there was an alternative. I played along with their desires, dressed how they wanted me to dress, and tried to live up to my mother's expectations.

It wasn't until I started sleeping with boys that it became apparent I wasn't as happy being a girl as I thought I was. But I didn't know if there was any way to change it, to make things better, so I learnt to cope as best I could in a body that I came to feel uncomfortable living in.

The 60s weren't a bad time to be sexually active though. Plenty of people willing to experiment, men and women alike, and soon sex wasn't something that I hated as much as I had before once I'd found things I liked. That helped a lot. It didn't help me figure out what my sexuality was, but I figured that wasn't really an issue. I was intent on being a rebellious child, willing to indulge in all the things I wasn't supposed to do, even if it meant moving in with some friends to escape my parents and their rules. I cherished the freedom I had.

Somehow, I held down a steady job. God knows how I did that, what with all the things I got up to. I'd established an identity as a butch lesbian. Not perfect, not really accurate either as I kept dating both men and women anyway, but it would do. I was out at clubs, in the closet at work. Ironically, it was safer that way. I kept my hair short and dressed rather androgynously. My relationships were all short and passionate. We could never work out where I fit; I wasn't the man or the woman, and at the same time, I was both. I was as intimidating as I was a pushover. I decided not to think about it and just spent my time doing whatever I liked. I figured I'd work it all out later. I was too busy having a good time to care.

The first time I met Jeff was at a Move gig in early 1970. It was in this paltry little club in Leicester, packed to the brim with kids. I'm not sure what it was that made me notice him. He wasn't that much of a looker, least not to me, and I remember him being particularly subdued on stage that night. The rest of the band were far more distracting and entertaining. Maybe it was his eyes. He always did have lovely eyes when he let you look at them.

I was out with some friends that night and we'd found a good spot near the stage. At some point, he caught my gaze and he barely took his eyes off me for the rest of the gig. I thought he was eyeing my friends, they were much more likely to attract boys than me, but then he found me afterwards and offered to buy me a drink and I couldn't have been more surprised. I wondered what he saw in me.

I think I intimidated him too. He seemed so shy as we sat there together, but I noticed his eyes. They said more than he did as he reached over and touched my hand, just brushing my skin with his thumb. It was the only show of affection I had from him until we got home.

My friends left without me and I spent the night with him, just talking, once I'd coaxed him out of his shell. It was like I'd suddenly given him permission to speak and he told me all sorts of things I doubt he'd told anyone else, perhaps because they'd never bothered to ask.

Everything moved so quickly after that. I never thought I'd see him again, that the magic of that first night would never be repeated, but he kept coming back. I actually waited to have sex with him as we got to know each other better first. It wasn't like he pressured me either. It happened when it was always going to happen, and it brought us even closer together.

By the end of the year, we were married, much to my parents' shock. God knows what we were thinking at the time, though. I was hardly a domestic goddess, able to keep a house in order while my darling husband was away all the time with the band. I was just thankful there were no children to care for. I didn't want them and he wasn't ready, and so the matter was settled.

Still, the time alone allowed me to experiment. It wasn't that I hated having sex with him either. He was always so tender and careful with me, constantly seeking my reassurance. It was rather adorable, and I did appreciate it. But it didn't stop it triggering those thoughts about my body, that it was wrong somehow. I had no words to describe what I was feeling. The words that are used today weren't around back then. Voiceless confusion was all I had.

The first time I put on his clothes, it was a Sunday, March 17th, 1974. I can't remember why it was that particular day, or why I still remember the date. It was just an ordinary Sunday as far as I can remember. I'd been thinking too much. Idle curiosity drove me to it. I wanted to know how I would look in proper men's clothes, so I found a pair of trousers and a shirt and stood in front of the mirror. It didn't fit me perfectly, he was taller than me, but I managed to fix it so it looked okay. A little loose-fitting, but okay. I combed my hair back, all slick and shiny. I felt like my dad, and I could see some resemblance to him in my face. The scariest part was how comfortable I felt. It felt right and proper, like this is how I was always meant to look.

I didn't know what to do with that thought. I couldn't just go around dressed like a man, could I? That would hardly be enough, especially as I was married to a man. if I was going to do this, I'd have to divorce him, and take on a completely new identity. I wasn't sure I was ready to do that just yet. I still loved Jeff, I still love Jeff, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hurt him like that. He had a tendency to hide his wounds very deeply inside his heart, rather than let them heal. Unable to bear the thought of hurting him, I decided it wasn't a thought I was ready to entertain and buried it away in the back of my mind. Maybe it would go away, I told myself.

But I kept on experimenting, wearing his clothes at home while he was away. I never went out in public in drag, that would never be accepted, and I was never sure I passed well enough to get away with it. I learnt to bind my chest, and really liked the way it made me look. I'd also learnt some make-up tricks from some theatre friends that let me give myself some stubble. All this together removed all trace of my female body.

I got obsessive about keeping diaries, so I knew when people were coming over, or when Jeff was coming back, so I could change and present as female again. I felt like sometimes I was living a double life, male at home in private, female with the rest of the world. The longer I did it, the more I came to dread having to be female again.

By mid-1975, I'd bought my first proper tailored men's suit once I'd found a tailor willing to make it for me. Pretty sure he overcharged me for the privilege too, the prick. Binding my chest and adding some stubble, I tried that suit on for the first time and knew there was no going back. It was probably the most expensive thing I'd ever bought, and it cemented a desire in my mind to live like this forever. I had reached a point where I could no longer live as a woman. That thought I toyed with back in '74 came back to haunt me.

I'd made sure Jeff didn't know about my experiments. I wasn't ready for him to know about it until I was ready to tell him. Word reached me around this time of Jeff fooling around with another girl, too, but I didn't have the heart to care. I had come to accept that we would have to divorce, and while it hurt me to do it, it was our only course of action. We would never be allowed to remain married if I was a man, no matter how much I loved him. I didn't want to leave him, but society wasn't ready for someone like me, and as far as I'd been able to tell, Jeff wasn't as open about his sexuality as I was and a relationship with another man may be impossible for him to bear. I'd just have to live within the system as best I could until I had more freedom.

It was late September 1976 when he found out. I remember that day as clearly as if it happened yesterday. Jeff was due home that evening, which was fine, but for once, he'd decided to surprise me by coming home early. I was in the hall, trying out hats that might go with my suit, when he arrived. He just stood in the doorway. I was in my male attire, my chest bound and stubble on my chin, and I looked at him, and he looked at me, and he said nothing.

I don't know if he even knew what to say. He closed the door behind him and approached, gazing at my appearance. He held my hand loosely and I could feel his heart breaking.

He didn't ask; I didn't try to explain. I wasn't sure I'd be able to explain it even if he had asked. He just looked at me with these confused eyes, and even though I could see a faint flicker of desire, it wouldn't be enough to keep us together. He kissed me one last time, and that was it.

The split was mutual. Since we'd separated, I'd taken on a more masculine appearance, though not so much that I looked out of place. I wasn't going to start transitioning until I could leave town. Start afresh in a new place with a new name and a new appearance, that's what I wanted.

Soon as it was all over, I moved to London. Shacked up with some old friends and got drafted into the theatre. It seemed a safe enough place to hide for someone who liked costumes. Our troup was small, and we did small productions, but we had so much fun. Crazy and queer like me as half of them were, they were good friends.

It was on a tour to Germany a few months later that everything changed. We'd been out at some gay bars after opening night and I'd heard word of a doctor who treated transsexuals, helped them change their bodies. I can't say I wasn't interested, and discretely acquired his details. I looked him up on a free afternoon and hoped he would agree to help me as I took a train down to Munich. He hadn't seen anyone like me before, but I liked him and he said he liked a challenge, so he signed me up.

I stayed behind in Berlin once the tour was over. It was just easier that way, plus I couldn't find a place in Munich. Took a while to organise the right permits, but it was easier to change my papers back then, slip through the system. I'd inadvertently ended up with a male marker on my passport - some sort of administrative error, I suspect - and just went with it. Going out around town as a man was much easier then. I picked up some work in an English bar as I didn't speak any German then. I didn't mind serving expats and tourists pining for home, and it proved weirdly comforting, even though it was a very mixed clientele. But it provided me with the money I needed to transition so I could hardly complain.

I enjoyed my life in Germany. I commuted to Munich to see the doctor once or twice a fortnight. Since we were breaking new ground, we talked about options. He knew what to do for his female patients, and suspected testosterone might work for me. He said he remembered reading something about that some years ago but had never had anyone to try it out on. It took some months to work out the correct dosage, enough to be safe, but still give the right effects. I can't tell you how amazing it was to hear my voice deepen and my body change. I had my breasts removed as well, meaning I could finally stop binding.

I had my reproductive organs removed as well. It wasn't like I had any use for them. I declined the offer for phalloplasty though. The risk of losing sexual pleasure was too much, and since the procedure was very hit and miss with regards to what it could actually achieve? Yeah, I'll pass. I don't now if I'd even do it now. I can't say they've improved much since then. Prosthetics are much more useful to me.

I appreciated his care. Without him, I'd have never got anywhere. He helped me with visas and German classes, where to find accommodation, anything I needed to remain in the country. I had kind of fallen in love with the place and there was a desire to be close to the only doctor who was willing to help me. I think he discounted his prices so much because I was as much a scientific experiment as a patient.

That I was a fluent English speaker came in handy once I had my German fluency. I could act as a translator then, and picked up work with a couple of German companies that needed English speakers as mediators and representatives in America. I was lucky it was so well paid, and involved many trips overseas.

By this time, I was living as Bruce fulltime, with a proper body to match. I took the name of my grandfather. He'd always been the one who believed in me the most. He taught me all the same things he taught my brothers, brought me up like them. I think he knew who I really was before I was even aware of it. I was always living in stealth, never telling anyone I used to be a girl. I didn't want to jeopardise my life. I had too much to lose.

Then 1979 rolled along. I was passing all the time, and had enough facial hair to require proper grooming. I'd never been so fit in my life and I appreciated the extra muscle mass. My chest had healed quite well and unless you were looking for them, you couldn't see the scars. Sure, I had no sensation in my nipples anymore, but I never got much out of it anyway so I didn't miss it.

I'd been experimenting sexually with some open-minded English friends, just to see how it would all work. I was rediscovering my likes and dislikes and what my enlarged clit could do. It wasn't a proper dick, but it worked the same. I picked up a few interesting sex toys around the traps that helped me out when I wanted to try penetrative sex. It wasn't a real dick either, but it felt right enough to feel good.

It was summer and I was in Munich, seeing my doctor. I'd taken a walk afterwards, just because I never spent enough time there. I remember walking down a street and stopped as I saw Jeff and a few of his bandmates walking down the street on the other side. I hadn't expected to see him again, and yet, there he was. There was a moment where our eyes met, and he looked at me curiously as if he couldn't work out if he knew me, before they walked on again.

I honestly expected that would be the end of it. I never expected to see him again, nor that he would track me down and turn up on my doorstep one evening a few days after. He still wore a look of confused attraction on his face.

"Rosie? Is that you?" He spoke softly, hesitantly, unsure he was right.

"Yeah, it's me, though I haven't been Rosie for years. I'm Bruce now," I said.

He touched my cheek, rubbing his fingers against my stubble. Disbelief and confusion.

"Bruce, hey? Bruce. Hmm." He looked at me strangely, getting used to the new name. "So how did - how is this even possible? You were a - girl. And now you're a-"

I shrugged. "I found a good doctor. You should be pleased. Not everyone gets to sleep with a scientific experiment."

"This is all real, isn't it? And your voice, it's deeper." He grasped my arms, feeling my shoulders, seeing how my body had changed. "You feel more solid."

I flexed my muscles proudly. "Yeah, nice result, hey? Honestly, we didn't know what would happen when I started testosterone, so it's been fun figuring that out. I gotta say, I wouldn't change it for the world."

He just stared at me again, unsure how to react. I reached up and removed his sunglasses. I wanted to see his eyes again. They always said more than he ever did.

"I can't believe how much you've changed. I never even - I never thought you'd do something like this. I just thought - y'know, with the cross-dressin' an' all, that'd be it. But this - I never expected this. I hardly recognised you out on the streets before, you know, but there was something about your eyes..."

"Yeah, I look a bit like my dad did when he was younger. I wish I had the guts to tell them where I am. I may have just disappeared on them. I didn't think they'd accept me anyway. Nice to see you again, though. I did miss you," I said, brushing my fingers down his cheek. "Are you going to stay awhile?"

"I think I might. I mean, if you want me to stay. I wouldn't want to - I mean-"

I silenced him with a soft kiss and brought him inside. He nearly pulled away from me, but I think his curiosity got the better of him and he followed. I saw that faint flicker of desire again, and was surprised it lasted just a little bit longer. Maybe I could stir his arousal again like I did all those years ago.

We had supper together on my balcony. He kept stealing glances at me, his hand brushing against my fingers. Curiosity, confusion, attraction, they were all there in his eyes. I don't think even he knew why he wanted me, and really, I wasn't deliberately trying to turn him on, just that by the end of the evening, he was the one who brought me into his arms and kissed me properly.

He took me to bed. It had never been part of my plan. I didn't even have a plan for such a situation. I always hoped that if we ever met again, we might just stay up all night talking like we did that first night we met.

Things didn't quite work out like that, though, and he kept finding excuses to come and stay the night. We mostly met in Germany, though we met in other places too if it became convenient, but never back home. We never met again in the UK, not for that. We both had our reasons for not wanting to go back there if we could avoid it.

We grew close again. He was married, of course, but I could see the love fading as things got worse. There was more confusion in his eyes, and I didn't know how to fix it. Perhaps I became a sanctuary. We talked again. Talked for hours. I still seemed to be the only one who could get him to talk. He told me everything, and then he'd make love to me as if we were still married, and we'd wonder again why we split.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised I was the one he ran to when his marriage fell apart. The wounds were much deeper this time, and I wondered if they would ever heal. I'd received a call early in the morning and promised I'd be on the next flight over. It was the first time we'd met in London since we'd split, and I arrived at his house to find him distressed and angry. He'd become paralysed, unsure what to do. She'd just left on him during the night, taking the girls with her, and the shock was too much for him. I found him in Laura's room, clutching one of her dolls to his chest as he cried. I'd never seen him so upset before and I didn't really know what to say.

I remember asking him if I'd been partly responsible for breaking them up, but Jeff reassured me the fault didn't lie with me. We didn't sleep together then. He was grieving too much, and he needed a friend more than a lover. I called in some favours at work and ended up staying with Jeff for about a week.

That was the last time I saw him for nearly a decade. Our lives had shifted in separate directions again, and apart from frequent letters, we had no time to meet. I missed him, and I know he missed me, but that was how life was. I don't think he ever told me everything in his letters. I could tell he was holding back, waiting for when we were together so he could talk again, like he always did, and tell me everything he refused to tell anyone else. I wanted to see his eyes again, just to see what they would tell me. That's where his secrets were, if you knew what you were looking for.

It's strange to think back on it all now. It all sounds so bizarre. I don't even recognise Rosie anymore. She seems like a completely different person. A separate person. Someone I never was. Maybe a rebellious sister. Someone related to me, but not me at all. Maybe one day I'll figure it all out. All I know is that if I don't tell my story, strange as it is, no one will ever remember me, and I could never forgive Jeff for that.

I still live in Germany. I don't really know why. It's no better than any other country, even though I like it here. There's still discrimination. Queers still get beaten every now and then. Some of them even die. I live in stealth. It's safer. I only come out to people if I know I can trust them. It's not easy, but I'm not giving up on everything I've achieved. I have a good job, good friends, a nice house, and I still see my doctor every fortnight, just to see how I'm doing. I'm happier now than I ever have been. I'm not going to let them ruin it.


End file.
